Friday 30 June 2017

Q is for Qatar

Q is for Qatar

I’ll put it out there now and say I reckon this might be shortest entry there’s been for a while (please try and keep your rejoicing to a minimum – the neighbours are trying to sleep). Only a couple of weeks ago, for lack of any other option, my hands were tied and I had to cook Omani cuisine. Delicious as it was (damn, it really was good), I wasn’t overly thrilled at the prospect of once again being faced with a one-country letter, particularly given the fact that the two cuisines in question – Omani and Qatari – aren’t exactly what you would call ‘polar opposites’. Not only that, but there was just one measly week between the two (thank God for the Philippines), which meant eating two very similar meals in very quick succession. So, suffice it to say I was heading back over to the Persian Gulf with something less than buckets than enthusiasm. Maybe a bowl of it. Maybe even just a dainty little teacup. No offence, Qatar!

Off to a great start
As anyone who keeps half an eye on the news (eugh, flashbacks to cutting open sheep eyeballs at school – bleeeeuuuuggghhh) will know, this little nation makes up in headlines what it may lack in physical size. And boyyyyy has it been causing a fuss recently! I am about as far from an expert on the Middle East as it is possible to get, but even I know that this former British protectorate is definitely not the most popular kid in the class over there. I have to say though, considering the overwhelming attitude of bewilderment and, to some extent, disdain towards Britain that seems to be emanating from an unfortunate number of countries right now, I can empathise a smidge with Qatar. To clarify, I mean this like in the same way I could empathise with the other kid in my class at school who used to have to wear an eyepatch and headbrace (true story, folks): comrades in arms we were not, but there was a certain sense of “I get ya, kid”. (Please note: I am in no way taking a political stance on whatever the heck is going on over there. I’m just here for the chuckles).

Less of the childhood sob - or for you, perhaps, wildly entertaining – stories, and back to Qatar. Let me tell you, for a little splodge of a nation, the Qataris haven’t done badly for themselves at all, at least in terms of moola. It officially has the highest income per capita in the world – bet you didn’t know that, did you? And even though you’d not necessarily notice this little fella in a crowded room at some fancy soiree, Qatar packs a disproportionate punch on the world stage, being identified as a ‘middle power’ (a step away from a ‘great power’ and two shades off ‘superpower’). Having said that, if Qatar were to head to a fancy soiree, it’d probably be dripping in gold, silk and truffles, so it’d maybe be a little tricky to ignore. I just one to mention one final little fact on the country itself: earlier this year, the population of Qatar was 2.6 million. Not so special, eh? BUT 2.3 million of ‘em are expatriates. 2.3 MILLION. OF 2.6 MILLION! The mind boggles.

Bootiful veg
The question, of course, is what do all those expats, and the smattering of locals, eat there? Well, no prizes for guessing that rice is back on the menu. And chicken and lamb. And all manner of spices. And a bunch of veggies. Can you sense my enthusiasm?? Apparently, the national dish of Qatar is machbous – a good ol’ reliable mix of rice, meat and vegetables. Though there may be some contention considering its origins, machbous is said to come from Saudi Arabia. Its neighbours were then apparently like “yeh, cool, we’ll have some of that too” and the rest was history. So, what about something that is typically Qatari? I’ll tell you this for free, it’s not easy to track down. Many of the country’s most popular dishes, such as kabsa (rice, meat and vegetables mixed with spices – notice a pattern emerging?) and balaleet (noodles cooked with sugar, cinnamon, saffron and cardamom and topped with – gulp – an omelette) tend to be rather vague as to their origins, and are enjoyed by many countries in that corner of the globe. However, after MUCH trawling the backwaters of Google, I chanced upon an intriguing dish which, while once again of vague origin, presented a slightly more interesting experience than the standard rice-meat-veg combo. Plus, as a bonus, it has a downright glorious name: margoog.

Said curious dumplings
Ma gawd, margoog, what a funny little thing you are. On first glance, it’s nothing but a harmless lamb and vegetable stew, with the customary 10-page list of spices. HOWEVER, just where you think the list of ingredients should stop, there comes the heading ‘dumpling ingredients’. Errrrr what? What are dumplings doing in a lamb stew all the way over in Qatar? Did some oil baron come over to Britain and sneak a pot of some granny’s stew back in his carry-on? To me, that is the only explanation. Dumplings have been a fairly regular theme in many of the cuisines I’ve looked into so far, but not in any of the Persian Gulf countries. What’s more, these dumplings aren’t your typical globs of stodge that are lurking around in a hearty British stew. No no, margoog dumplings are flat. Literally just a flat disc of flour, oil and water that floats around on top of the stew, occasionally dipping below the surface if a chunk of aubergine decides to wash ashore on it. Very strange indeed.

Marvellous margoog

As I was shopping for this dish, I decided to forego the meat and try a veggie version. Well friends, let me tell you that this was a very good decision. Although I left out the lamb, I left the stew to simmer and bubble away for almost as long, meaning that the vegetables broke down into a delightful mass of semi-indistinguishable mush. I appreciate that that doesn’t sound especially appetising, but who wants an undercooked aubergine? No-one, that’s who. My new friends, the dried Persian limes, also snuck their way into my dinner, which I was definitely not sad about, and the whole bonanza was topped off by above-mentioned dumplings/mini frisbees. I gotta say, after all that moaning at the start about the lack of choice this week, margoog turned out to be an absolute smash. I distinctly remember clicking my fingers in a ‘gosh darnit, that’s mighty delicious’ kind of way, surprised as I was about the whole shebang. So Qatar, you may be somewhat controversial in other areas of life, but you sure make a good margoog!

Friday 23 June 2017

P is for the Philippines

P is for the Philippines

Lumpia filling
Compared with last week’s bleak outlook in terms of available countries and cuisines, P felt like hitting the gastronomical jackpot. Sure, it may not have the biggest selection of countries to go on, but it is not messing around. For starters, who in their right mind doesn’t LOVE a Portuguese nata? Y’all know them, for sure – those crispy, gooey, sweet-as-you-like custard tarts to which, upon purchasing, you say ‘oh gracious, I couldn’t possibly eat more than one’, only to find yourself soon 7 natas in and wishing someone would come along with a little wagon and drag you and your sorry excuse for willpower home. Yeh, those ones. And what about pierogi from Poland – another national take on everyone’s favourite carb-fest, the dumpling? A little plate of those bad boys smothered in sour cream is surely the stuff of everyone’s dreams (or perhaps digestion-induced nightmares). However, probably the most obvious choice this week for me was Peru because a) I’ve been there, many moons ago, and b) Peruvian food is something of a darling of the food scene at the moment. When I visited this wonderful land, I was a mere 16 years old and so my palate was a little less discerning than it is now. Indeed, my lasting memories of Peruvian food are the radioactive yellow of ‘Inca Kola’ (this really is the stuff of dreams, folks) and a tasty little dish of deep fried guinea pig. Yep, there we were, a bunch of rag-tag teenagers from rural England, breaking off limbs and gnawing on the ribs of what several of us had, until that very moment, only ever considered as a rubbish version of a pet rabbit. Disconcerting it may have been, but oooooeeeeeeeiiiiii it was GOOD! But even the combined goodness of Portuguese, Polish and Peruvian grub was not enough to tempt me away from one cuisine that is revered deeply by my fellow eating fanatic, Ms Shelley Pascual. And so, without further ado, I present to you…the Philippines!

Rollin' dat lumpia
Just a quick word about Shelley: a former work colleague and absolutely tip-top friend, Shelley has seen a lot of the world. Just when you think you’ve visited a lot of places and are silently congratulating yourself on being so very worldly, Shelley will just casually slip in that she’s been here, there and everywhere. Oh, and there too. Twice. Sometimes one may begrudge such traveling, but Shell is such a class act that it simply makes you wish that you were a little more like her. She’s also an A+ freelance journalist (check it out: https://shelleypascual.wordpress.com/), mountain biker and, importantly for this blog, daughter of Filipino parents. Thankfully, she also luuuurves food (check out her and her sister’s drool-worthy Instagram account @pascualeats: https://www.instagram.com/pascualeats/) and on several occasions cooked up some bangin’ dishes straight from her mum’s repertoire. So, while I may not have ever been to the Philippines, given Shell’s love of food and support for this project, I decided that the Philippines was the only way to go!

Siopao filling
Well, it turns out the Philippines are pretty eclectic when it comes to food: almost anyone can join the party – the Spanish (there they are again), the Chinese, the Malays, the Japanese and, of course, the Americans. Over the years, all of these guys have made their mark on the food found on this string of islands, resulting in a real mixed bag of delights. Rice, for example, was first cultivated by a gaggle of Austronesians from Southern China and Taiwan waaaaay back in 3200 BCE. A bit later, a few more of those entrepreneurial Chinese got wise to the ways of the ‘Pines and started trading in a range of goods, bringing some staples with them in the process, such as soy sauce (or toyo), tokwa (a.k.a. tofu) and fish sauce, or patis. Via the Malay-Indonesian trade connection, Filipino cooks even had access to the cuisines of such faraway places as India and Arabia, a notable example being puto, a type of steamed rice cake that apparently has its origins in Kerala. Pretty nuts, eh? Remember, this is before the days of supermarkets, mass food production and social media telling us all about what we should be eating right this second (apparently kouign amann is big deal right now – no, I don’t know either). THEN those wily Spaniards found their way to the shores of the Philippines and introduced a whole host of new and exciting ingredients to the local melting pot, including chili, tomatoes, corn and potatoes, which they in turn had picked up on their looting spree in South America. And, of course, with the spreading of American popular culture, fast food now has a firm foothold in the Philippines, too. PHEWF, that’s a lot of influences right there! Take a breather while I gather my thoughts for a sec.


Before hitting the steam room
Still with me? HEY, WAKE UP – YOU THERE, I SEE YOU DOZING!!! Alright? Ok. So, with all those cuisines and flavours vying for attention, what on earth constitutes a typical Filipino dish? Well, rice, for one thing. One dish I remember eating at Shelley’s house is champorado, or chocolate rice pudding to you and me. It seems that over on the islands, rice is a legit meal any time of the day, for any course – get your fix at brekkie with a steaming plate of sinangag (garlic fried rice), a serving of the above mentioned puto with spicy pork blood stew (yes) in the afternoon, and maybe later a sweet treat in the form of a sticky rice pastry, you know, if you’re feeling a bit rice-deprived. The Filipinos also have their own version of what is essentially finger food, called pulutan. This name comes from the Filipino word pulutin, which means ‘to pick something up’, and what better thing to pick up than a random part of a pig that has been either fried, boiled, grilled or minced, or sometimes all of the above?! Shockingly, it looks like these folks enjoy their porcine delights even more than the Germans, making use of almost every single part of a little piggy – the pork rinds, intestines, mesenteries (no joke, a membrane inside the body cavity of an animal – gahhhhhhhhh! And it resembles a FLOWER – GAHHHHHHHHHH!!!), ears, cheeks and liver. That is some serious nose-to-tail eating.

POW siopao
Despite the vast array of bloody delicious looking fare to choose from (I’ll say right now that bakeries in the Philippines must be a hell of a good time, based on what I’ve seen), I decided to consult my dear amiga on what to cook. She first gave me a comprehensive list of all her favourite snacks (mostly sweet and deliiiiiiish) and then said, in perhaps slightly different words, “people also love a boodle fight”. What? A WHAT? Pens at the ready, people, this is a good one: a boodle fight is basically when a giant – and I mean GIANT – pile of food is plonked in the middle of a table and the diners simply go to town on it. No room for knives and forks here, it’s all about getting stuck in with your hands (hence the ‘fight’ part of the name). The story goes that this style of eating originated in the Philippine military, when hungry soldiers would delicately and oh-so-gracefully shovel in food using nothing more than what the good Lord gave them, symbolising brotherhood, camaraderie and equality. Nice! However fun a boodle fight sounds, it’s not massively practical unless an actual army comes for dinner. Instead, I decided to whip up a round of lumpia and siopao.

Lumpiaaaaaaaaaa
Lumpia is what most of us know as a spring roll – simply a load of veg chopped up and stuffed inside a lumpia wrapper, then fried until crispy. Nothing too tricky there. Interestingly, the Dutch word for spring roll is loempia, as they were introduced to the country via their Indonesian colony, where the snack is also called lumpia. For their part, the siopao landed in the Philippines thanks to the Chinese, and is a filled and steamed bun. Once again, bread is on the menu – HOORAH! For this experiment, I decided to go for a classic Chinese-style pork filling, with plenty of soy sauce, oyster sauce and star anise. What could go wrong? Miraculously, not a lot! The lumpia, as expected, were an absolute doddle. Wrapping the buggers up was definitely a test of patience and dedication to the cause (expertly managed by my wonderful mum, who got well into the rolling), but the filling is definitely not rocket science: get a load of veg, mainly beansprouts, fry it all up and Bob’s your uncle, you’re done. We had ours with a fish-sauce based dip and a satay-style dip – both very tasty indeed.


The siopao required a little more care and attention, as is often the case with diva bread dishes. The dough itself has a pretty high sugar content, but don’t worry, ‘cos you also chuck in a whole lotta salt to balance it out. So far, so artery-destroying. Of course, there’s loads of resting involved (euuuugh, breeeaaddd), so you can toddle off and do other important things in the meantime, like drink tea and rearrange your underwear drawer. It’s not just the dough that needs time to do its thing – the filling also sits gently bubbling away for a couple of hours, until the pork falls to pieces the second you look at it. Once both elements were ready, I rather cack-handedly put them all together, desperately trying – and miserably failing - to achieve some level of beauty, then popped them in a steamer for 15 minutes. And that was it! Sure enough, we ended up with some average-looking but mighty tasty steamed pork buns, accompanied by a sauce made from the leftover juices from the cooking pot. Despite the OBSCENE amount of time they take, I can definitely recommend giving siopao a bash, and lumpia too. My guinea pigs and I very much enjoyed them, so all that is left to say is thank you to Ms. Shelley for some spectacular suggestions – once again, you’ve nailed it!

Sunday 18 June 2017

O is for Oman

O is for Oman

Oh man, it’s Oman! And oh man, Oman is the only country in the world that starts with the letter O. Just Oman. That’s it. Nothing else. None. Not a sausage. So, shall we?

It’s not just the fact that Oman was my only option that made this week a little trickier than usual, but also the fact that, as countries go, Oman is not exactly what you’d describe as a heavyweight. Tucked over on the end of the sticky-out bit between Africa and the big bit of the Middle East (you know, that bit that Saudi Arabia is also on?), it’s home to a modest population of about 4.5 million people – about half the number of people living in London, to put it in context. As you’d expect for a country over that way, Oman isn’t doing too badly financially, although it’s still a little fish in the big oily pond of the Persian Gulf compared to its neighbours. It’s also an absolute monarchy, with the sixth longest-serving monarch in the world, the delightfully named Sultan Qaboos, sitting pretty atop his probably wildly lavish throne. He’s been hanging around the Al Alam Palace in Old Muscat since 1970 – almost 47 years – and it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere soon: compared to our dear Lizzy, who celebrated her 91st birthday this year, Qaboos is a fresh-faced whippersnapper, turning a youthful 77 years old later this year.

Rice is nice
But friends, we’re not here to talk royalty. No, the most important question about Oman is of course: what the Dickens do the Omanis like to chow down on? Even before doing my research I was fairly certain that whatever I cooked would involve rice. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this quest so far, it’s that rice really is nice. A good chunk of the individual countries that join together to form this big multi-coloured patchwork quilt we call earth count the golden grain as the cornerstone of their cuisine: whether it’s the bobor vendor hawking her goods on the streets of Phnom Penh or the lady churning out steaming plates of rice and peas to her kiddies in Jamaica, you can be sure that wherever you are in the world, rice is never far away.

But apart from rice, what does your average guy or gal in downtown Muscat like to munch on? Well, it would appear that traditional Omani cuisine has a lot in common with that of its neighbours: think lots of spices, herbs, marinades, chicken, lamb and fish. Having said that, it seems that Omanis are not into setting their mouths on fire or exposing themselves to a sensory overload by way of an overzealous use of spice, which – apparently- makes Omani food particularly palatable. Some typical dishes include mashuai, whole spit-roasted kingfish with lemon rice; albadhinajan mae tawarikh, which is a savoury cake of aubergine, onions and dates; and machboos, a dish of rice, meat, vegetables and basically every spice you can throw at the pan. That last dish hails originally from Saudi Arabia, where it’s known as kabsa, but the Omanis (and Qataris and Bahrainis and Iraqis…) obviously decided that it’s just too darn good for the Saudis to have all to themselves and have well and truly adopted it into their own arsenal of dishes.
Dried Persian limes: delicious or just very good for cleaning?

After trawling the internet for some time, the search was beginning to get desperate. The thought of an aubergine and date cake did not really fill me with joy (although writing about it now, it’s exactly the sort of thing that I would definitely eat) and kingfish ain’t too easy to come by in the middle of Germany. As luck would have it, I finally stumbled across a recipe for a dish called madrouba. The ingredients all looked harmless enough, although whoever said that the Omanis aren’t heavy-handed with the spice obviously has never eaten this before: the ingredients list was essentially just the entire product catalogue of Schwartz Spices. Luckily, I’m not one to shy away from the spice rack, so madrouba it was!

Apart from the above-mentioned 12 metre long list of spices, this little dish is made up of chicken, tomatoes, onions, garlic, dried Persian limes and – guess what? RICE! Surpriiiiiiiiiiise. Hands up if you’ve ever used dried limes before? Good, I’m glad I’m not the only one. Man alive (or rather O-Man alive – hahahaha), they are weird little chaps. The ones I bought came vacuum-packed and looked very much like lemons that had been bought and promptly dropped under the kitchen cupboard, only to be retrieved 2.5 years later during a long-overdue “proper” clean (i.e. not just wiping the surfaces and pretending that’s enough). Cut open the packet and the smell is not unlike a very strongly scented citrus cleaning spray, which is fine if you plan to do said “proper” clean of the kitchen, but less so when you intend to cook a delicious dinner for your dear parents/guinea pigs. But, who knows, maybe they’ll be a taste sensation?!


All dat spice
The history is madrouba is rather elusive, I have to say. I can only assume someone just decided one day that this particular set of ingredients would work well together and got on with it. No swashbuckling European invaders, no fussy royals making demands, no horrible horrible slave trade. Just someone poking around in their cupboards and throwing stuff in a pan. The interesting thing about this meal is the amount of time you cook the rice for. I just want to say now that I’m not known for my rice-cooking prowess, but even I was a little sceptical when the recipe suggested cooking it for 2 hours. 2 hours! There’s a lot of things that require 2 hours to do, but cooking rice generally isn’t one of them. Oh oh oh, people – it’s the KEY! The key to all things good and delicious, seriously. By cooking it for that long, the rice breaks down into this lovely, gloopy porridge-like mass, and it absorbs all the delicious spices and tomatoes swimming around in the broth. Those fiendish dried limes come into their own and pierce the gloop with a sharp tang that in no way resembles cleaning fluid (hoorah!), and the chicken has been relaxing, doing its thing, in the pot for so long that it just falls off the bone. Lordy, it was good. Granted it’s not the meal to go for if you’re in a hurry, but O-MAN (gaaaaaaahahaha, so funny), it’s a winner-winner-chicken-dinner if ever there was one!
Madroubaaaaaaa



Friday 9 June 2017

N is for New Zealand

N is for New Zealand

Another week, another country-themed dinner – what a life! This week, it’s time to put the Ns under the microscope and see what culinary delights they have to offer. Though not quite as large a club as its alphabetical predecessor, N has a few countries of personal interest and I’d been um-ing and ahh-ing about what to do for some time before the universe got involved and made the decision for me. Looking at the Ns, stroking my proverbial beard and scratching my none-proverbial bonce, my immediate choice was the Netherlands. For those who are not blessed with any knowledge of the unadulterated joy that is the Dutch language, you have my sympathy. Dutch is a masterclass in impossible diphthongs, fervent use of diminutives and the power of phlegm…hmm, maybe that actually doesn’t sound soooo great. Whatever. Whether or not you count the aforementioned traits as positive doesn’t matter – any language in which the sentence ‘helaas de sinaasappelsap is op’ (say it really fast without taking a breath) is an actual legitimate sentence should be worthy of all our admiration.

But alas, the Netherlands had to take a back seat because N is all about New Zealand. This selection requires a little background info, so settle in – it’s about to get personal. So, way back when, my matriarchal great aunt made a decision. And that decision was to jump on a boat and sail to New Zealand to have a little peek at what our Commonwealth pals had going on over there on the other side of the world. Turns out, she found it not too shabby at all and settled down there for the long haul, eventually adding a whole antipodean branch to our family tree. Although we’d met said great aunt a couple of times, the rest of the New Zealand lot were really just a list of names to my sister and I for many years. That is until we finally took a month-long jolly over there in 2010. Having had next to no contact to all our rellies for the best part of 20 years, we suddenly found ourselves tentatively sending out emails to them all: “Hi, you don’t really know us, but we’re your grandma’s daughter’s cousin’s kids…” – or something to that effect. And sure enough, we were invited to call in on each and every one of them.

Ingredients for the big burger
The trip was, of course, spectacular. As anyone who has seen Lord of the Rings knows, New Zealand is jaw-droppingly beautiful. I’ve had the incredible fortune of seeing quite a few countries in my life so far, and there is no question that New Zealand takes home the medal for aesthetics. However, for us, the trip was so much more than just driving around this awesome country and singing the LOTR theme music ALL THE TIME – it was a bit of a turning point in our side of the family’s relationship with the self-designated ‘Kiwi cousins’. A good 7 years of frequent contact and various meet-ups here and there culminated in a very strong Kiwi cousin contingent at my sister’s wedding. That may not sound like a big deal – they’re family, it’s pretty standard for family to go to other family weddings, right? Wrong! Half of these guys flew from THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD to be there. Two of the younger members of the contingent hadn’t seen us in seven flippin’ years, and even then we only spent a very brief time with them (I must also point out that these two, Franta and Nick, well and truly tore up the dancefloor – hats off, lads). So, given this act of overwhelming spirit and generosity, I felt like I owed it to the KCs to cook a Kiwi classic. And here we are!

You still there? Yes? You’re a hero – well done for getting through that bit of potted family history. ANYWAY let’s get down to business. Contrary to not-at-all popular belief, New Zealanders don’t eat kiwis (the bird, at least). They’re also not tarnished with the same brush of eating nothing but barbecued shrimp all year round, like their Australian neighbours. In fact, on the world stage, New Zealand cuisine has kept fairly quiet. Can you name a traditional Kiwi dish? Coffee, maybe? While not strictly a dish, there’s been a buzz around New Zealand coffee for some time: it’s even credited with the invention of now hipster-favourite, the flat white. Not only that, but this little country has the most coffee roasters per capita in the world – take that, fact fans! Heck, NZ coffee has become so in demand that even my small, rather non-descript hometown in Germany now has a Kiwi café (Kiwi Kaffeehaus, which is an absolute SMASH – take note, anyone visiting Braunschweig). It’s fair to say that coffee is a big deal to that lot down under, but I ain’t no barista, so coffee was out of the question.

Ingredients in the flesh
On our trip around the islands, two things became very clear to my big sis and I with regards to the grub there: first, they have got cafés LOCKED DOWN (see above) and second, the seafood is out of this world. The British Isles may be inextricably linked to fish and chips – and rightly so, it’s a national institution – but boy, do those Kiwis give them a run for their money. With such a long coastline and, well, bloody loads of water surrounding the place, it’s no wonder that New Zealanders can serve up some of the freshest, meatiest seafood on the planet. The mussels, oh man, the mussels! But if there’s one dish that is synonymous with water-dwelling beasties in NZ, it’s whitebait fritters. While whitebait aren’t strictly from the sea, they sure as hell are a popular ‘seafood’ snack. I didn’t actually get my mitts on any while we were there, but whitebait fritters are nothing more, nothing less than what they proclaim to be: a pancake-type batter with some fresh little whitebait in and fried. Voila – simplicity strikes again!

The majesty from afar
While much of modern New Zealand cuisine has been greatly influenced by both European and Pacific Rim ingredients and methods, Maori culture has numerous dishes that you won’t find in your average neighbourhood joint in the UK, Germany or Japan. In traditional Maori religion, food was noa, which means non-sacred and as such, had to be kept separate from anything tapu (sacred) lest it become tarnished. Such was the extent of this rule of separation that high chiefs (who are tapu) often had to be fed by non-tapu­ people, minimising the risk of them touching the non-sacred grub. The main focal point of Maori cooking is hāngi, a term which describes the method of cooking food in a pit oven using heated rocks. If your Maori buddy has something to celebrate, chances are he’ll ‘lay a hāngi’, i.e. dig a whopping great hole, get a big ol’ fire going to heat the stones in the bottom and place baskets of food over the stones to cook for several hours, before lifting it all out and going to town on it. My nostalgia for my time in the scouts had me dreaming of going all out and doing a hāngi, but I don’t think the Braunschweig office of public order (yes, that is a thing – God forbid you mow your lawn on a Sunday, ‘cos they’ll be after you) would be too keen if I just started digging in the park. Sadly.

The majesty close up
Upon asking the KCs about typical New Zealand grub, there was one thing they more or less all mentioned: the Kiwi burger. Now, I don’t eat burgers all that often but when I do, I’m very much in my happy place, especially if my hands and face are COVERED in sauce and grease at the end – the messier, the better (and my parents wonder why they’ve not married me off yet). For all my scouring the internet, I couldn’t actually put my finger on where the Kiwi burger came from, or rather who came up with the frankly genius idea. All I know is that McDonalds caught on to it and spread the love across the islands. Cheers, Ronald! The Kiwi burger starts off pretty normal: there’s a bun, there’s a meat patty, there’s a nod to vitamins in the form of some lettuce leaves. So far, so normal. But wait wait wait. How about a couple of extras? Liiiiiike a fried egg, for example? Or some sliced beetroot? OR BOTH?!? Yes friends, it seems the inventor of the Kiwi burger had all the smarts, ‘cos she/he came up with the greatest burger toppings in history, not even to be eclipsed by bacon and cheese. So in my little kitchen, 1000s of miles away from the shores of New Zealand, I gathered together the ingredients, threw together some patties and eventually basked in the glow of oozing egg yolk, sweet and earthy beetroot, and juicy beef. Hallelujah.


I know I’d normally give a slightly more detailed account of the actual cooking process, but there’s not much to say about making burgers. The joy of this was very much in the eating, not in the prep, as it should be with this kind of food. I implore you, next time you make a burger, make it a Kiwi one – you won’t regret it. Kiwi cousins, you guys smashed it out of the park!

Sunday 4 June 2017

M is for Mexico (via Mongolia)

M is for Mexico (via Mongolia)

Blimey, we’ve reached the halfway point! Luckily for you, the countdown to the end begins now, and you can look forward to a life without my ramblings (unless I have your phone number, then that’s just your bad luck). And how fitting that the halfway point is also the letter that my very own name starts with: M. Oh M, how you spoil me with your tremendous choice of countries. This letter includes some of the most dazzling stars on the culinary stage, plus a number of excellent back up dancers who are probably seething with silent rage that said stars are hogging the limelight, but one day…ONE DAY! Grabbing the mic and unapologetically taking centre stage are countries such as Morocco, Mexico and Malaysia, with their hit parade of flavours, backed up by slightly more modest spots like Myanmar, Macedonia, Monaco and Malta. In total, I had 19 places to choose from – quite the predicament. Technically, I should have rummaged around in Malaysia’s kitchen cupboards, as I’ve had the absolute joy of visiting several times and absolutely decimating any snack store I came across. However, as I was at home for my beloved sister’s wedding, I let her choose the country, meaning I ended up whisking my family and friends off to the sunny climes of Mexicooooooooooooo. Arriba arriba!!

Beautiful toms
Before I get to that, a very special honorary mention must go to some absolute tip-top friends of mine, Dan and Liz, who invited me over for dinner to their swanky new abode while I was home. They know about this little project and have asked before about the application process to be a guinea pig (there isn’t one, fyi – you just have to be able to put up with kitchen chaos and potentially terrible food), but I didn’t think anything of it upon receiving the invite. However, to my absolute delight, they had prepared a downright champion meal of Mongolian beef (for M) for myself and two other pals. Mongolia is not exactly famed for its food, given the chilly temperatures and rather harsh terrain BUT it does have the good fortune of being heavily influenced by Chinese and Russian cuisine. The Mongolian beef that was whipped up for us lucky guests definitely had more than a pinch of Chinese-style flavours about it, but man ALIVE, it was tasty. I’ll be damned if I can tell you what was in it, but all I know was that it was a mighty fine meal, so MASSIVE kudos and THAAAANKS to Dan and Liz. I can say with 100% confidence that it was the best Mongolian food I’ve ever had.

The beginnings of arroz rojo
Back to Mexico. Although the above-mentioned dinner was incredible, part of this challenge is that I have to cook the food myself, so I got down to business by trawling through the overwhelming amount of information on Mexican cuisine. Our understanding of Mexican food has suffered greatly from the influence of Tex-Mex, which is a whole other kettle of fish (or chicken, or pork, or beef…): delicious it is, but traditional? Not so much. Mexican food is basically fusion food, bringing together elements of indigenous Mesoamerican cooking and European ingredients and methods, especially from Spain. Yep, those conquistadors of days of yore decided that the Aztec diet of the 16th century could do with a bit of jazzing up, so they started adding meats from typical European domesticated animals (like beef, chicken, goat and pork), a whole load of dairy products, plus a few herbs and spices for that extra kick. Up to that point, the traditional ingredients of the area were those that we still associate with Mexican food today – corn, avocados, beans, tomatoes, chili peppers – but, as they were apparently wont to do back then, those pesky Europeans came and made it a whole lot unhealthier. Not only that, but African and Asian cuisines also made their way to Mexico’s shores by way of the slave trade and the so-called Manila-Acapulco Galleons (Spanish trading ships that sailed across the Pacific from Acapulco to Manila and back a couple of times a year). So basically, there’s something in there for everyone.

One foodstuff in traditional Mexican cuisine that certainly deserves a mention is the mythical and revered mole, which helped traditional Mexican cuisine become inscribed in the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2010. Mole is a generic term that covers an absolutely massive range of sauces, and any dishes based on these sauces, in traditional Mexican cuisine. The origins of the sauce are contested, which the states of Puebla, Oaxaca and Tlaxcala all laying claim to it. However, whoever it was that came up with it, one thing is for sure: the Mexicans gave it the big thumbs-up and well-and-truly ran with it. Mole, by the way, is an ancient word for ‘mix’, a great example of something doing exactly what it says on the tin, because that is essentially what it is – a big ol’ bowl of mixed up stuff. Rumour has it that the original mole was the invention of a couple of panic-stricken nuns (what a sentence) when they found out that they were to be descended on by the archbishop. I think we can all relate to the feeling: someone announces they’ll be dropping by for a chinwag and, oh if you happen to be cooking, well that would be just swell. You look in your cupboards and find nothing but a tin of tuna, a suspiciously soft onion, half a bottle of ketchup and some old bicarbonate of soda from your one and only foray into the world of baking. This is pretty much what happened to the nuns, except they had some chilis, spices, some old bread, a few nuts and a bit of chocolate lying around. They chucked it all into a pan and hoped for the best (again, a feeling we all know too well), smothering a freshly killed turkey in the stuff before serving it up to the ‘bish. And by Jove, he loved it! As mentioned, this is only one version of the beginnings of mole, but whichever tale you choose to believe, the fact remains: mole contains a whole lotta ingredients and is damn tasty for it.

The Mexican-ish feast
While mole would have been a very interesting dish to make, I had some practical limitations when it came to selecting what to cook, meaning I opted for food which probably involved more ‘Tex’ than should really be allowed. That said, I did make sure that I made a couple of things which are credited to Mexico, including pico de gallo. Literally translated, the name means ‘beak of rooster’ but mercifully, the dish itself contains not a single clucking beak. Instead, it’s more or less what we know as salsa, with tomatoes, onions, coriander (if you’re American and WRONG), fresh chilis and lime juice. I also made a pan of arroz rojo – or red rice – which was an absolute revelation! Rather than being simply cooked in water, this arroz gets a nice little bath in a mix of tomatoes, onions and garlic, which have been blitzed to create a liquid. Seriously, it has changed the more rice-y parts of my life forever. The rest of the dinner consisted of nachos, refried beans (also a Mexican staple), tacos, tortillas, guacamole (courtesy of best pal, Nikki), salad and Mexican-style chicken, marinated in chili, lime, coriander and cumin. Not the most authentic of spreads, but it fed the 10 hungry mouths around the table and, more importantly, kicked off what was an absolute smash of a weekend in celebratory style. Olé!